


How Severus Snape Became An Unwilling Marauder

by nickahontas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fem!Harry, Genderswap, Gryffindor Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22075219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickahontas/pseuds/nickahontas
Summary: Harry Potter is born a girl. It changes everything and nothing.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Fred Weasley & George Weasley, Harry Potter & Sirius Black, Marauders & Harry Potter & Fred Weasley & George Weasley
Comments: 11
Kudos: 280





	1. Year Four

Harry stares up at the enchanted ceiling. It’s a beautiful, sunny day. The whole school is buzzing with excitement. Cedric Diggory had formally asked Cho Chang to the Yule Ball on Saturday. It was a whole ordeal with rose petals and golden sparks at Madam Pudifoots. Now, everyone is asking everyone. It’s a bit unbearable and the weather is being so unfair about it all. It’s bloody Scotland. There should be rain and lightening. Grey skies at the very least least. Why couldn’t it ever be this pretty when she needed it to? Maybe on a Quidditch match? Or hunting down rats? Fighting Voldemort? No.

Those things can never happen with good visibility.

“I don’t get it,” Ron declares, shoveling eggs into his mouth. It’s really disgusting. They’re not very close, but he came with his brothers that time they rescued her from the Dursleys. 

“Of course you don’t,” Lavender sighs. 

Ron frowns. 

“You’re a bloke,” Harry explains. 

He relaxes and turns back to his breakfast with a shrug. Harry spends most of her time with Fred and George, and by extension Lee Jordan, and sometimes Ron. The boys don’t always understand things like Parvati and Lavender can. It’s just the three of them in the dormitory anyway, since that Granger girl died first year.

“You’ll have to ask someone soon, Harry, or they’ll all ask someone else," Lavender urges

Harry sighs into her porridge. “I know.”

“Bu ee uh url,” Ron says around his eggs. 

Parvati glares. 

“But she’s a girl!” Ron translates. 

“Ron, no boy is going to ask the Girl-Who-Lived to the Yule Ball,” Harry explains.

“Why not?!” His indignant anger is endearing. 

“Because everyone will know if I turn them down. It’s not a chance many are willing to take.”

“Plus you’re bloody scary,” a new voice adds. 

Fred, George, and Lee all sit down around them. Harry pulls her goblet and plate closer out of habit. 

“Harry isn’t scary,” Ron argues. 

Lee rolls his eyes as he piles bangers onto his plate. She likes how his dreadlocks, piled high on top of his head, dance with each movement. “Parselmouth. Famous. Rich. Destroyer of the Dark Lord. That business with Quirrell in your first year and Slytherin’s monster in your second. Both of them mysteriously disappeared and she’s awarded the House Cup soon after? Terrifying. Lockhart’s a permanent resident in St. Mungo’s, for Merlin’s sake.”

Harry slinks down into her seat. No Lee then. He would have been a fun date. She’d always had a bit of crush on him too, something she could never feel for Fred or George. 

“Well, when you put it like that....I’m sure Fred or George will take you.”

“Ronald Weasley!” Parvati screeches. 

Harry jerks to her feet, trying very hard to ignore the tears burning in her eyes. 

Potions is first thing on Monday mornings, so she figures it’s best to just wait outside the classroom. The sun can’t mock her here. She sits on the cold floor and braids and unravels her long, black hair nervously. 

She’d thought she likes strong, boisterous, brave men. They sounded exciting when Lavender gushed about them on late nights. Sirius changed it all. He was one of the strongest people she knew, probably would ever know. Brave, too, and boisterous. (And absolutely gorgeous, she had to admit.) Yet all of those exciting Gryffindor traits had resulted in a terrible fate. Not that she doesn’t adore him as a godfather, but James Potter was described the same and he had died fresh out of Hogwarts. Maybe it was good to have a healthy dose of fear in your bones. 

She didn’t know what her type was now. Or if there was any other type that would be reckless enough to have the Girl-Who-Lived. 

“Potter!”

Harry jumps. Snape looms over her, his face hard with suspicion. 

“What are you doing here?”

She chews on her lip for a minute. 

“The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin,” she blurts. 

He blinks. Stares. 

“Sometimes I wonder what it would be like.”

He blinks several times before asking, “Then why are you in Gryffindor?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t want to live with Draco Malfoy. He was a snobby prat on the train and in Madam Malkin's. It’s a shame, really. I don’t like Ron as much as I thought I would and I quite like snakes now. And green looks much better on me than crimson.”

“Shut up!” He barks, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Get inside!”

And leave me alone, goes unsaid. 

She doesn’t need to be told twice. She hurries into the Potions room, realizes she doesn’t want to work with anyone, and instead sits in the front row.

Harry mulls everything over as she prepares for class. She hardly notices the students filter in. It isn’t until Snape yells at them to get to work that she lifts herself from the fog. 

The headache potion isn’t very complicated, but anything, magic or mundane, that deals with the human mind must be handled carefully. So she is careful. Right up until Draco Malfoy hisses at her from across the aisle. 

“Potter! Were you crying in the great hall?” He asks gleefully. 

She presses her lips together and continues stirring the required pattern. Draco’s potion is darker than hers. She isn’t quite sure why. She’d been so careful. 

“What could ever be the matter? Can’t find a date to the ball?”

The newt eyes splash as she throws them into her cauldron. 

“That’s it! You can’t, can you?” 

Harry grips the oak leaves in her hand as she finally turns to face him. His grey eyes are alight with maliciousness. 

“Why?” She snaps. “Are you brave enough to ask?”

He manages to turn very white and very pink at the same time. 

“Of course not,” he says, scowling down at his cauldron. 

She gets a zero that day. 

Draco is slouched in his chair in his ridiculous dress robes. It’s obvious he isn’t having the greatest of times either. Harry perches on the chair across from him. 

“I can’t believe they’ve canceled Quidditch for this,” she declares as she straightens the skirt of her bottle-green gown. 

He grunts. She chugs a nearby butterbeer. They watch the other students dance to the orchestra. Harry’s saving herself for the Weird Sisters. 

“You’re supposed to tell me how lovely I look.”

“You look nice, Potter.”

“Thanks. You look nice, too.”

Dracula robes aside, she thinks.

He eyes her as if he’s waiting for a laugh. She’s nice enough not to. 

“Did you finally come to your senses and get rid of Pansy Pugface?”

“Did Krum come to his senses and leave you?”

Harry groans and sinks down in her seat. “I had to sneak away. He’s so boring. You know how much I love quidditch, but I need some sort of intellectual stimulation. Otherwise its like snogging a talented inferni.”

Draco purses his lips. She stares at him, daring him to break. He never does, but he has to look away to keep from laughing. She watches Lavender and Parvati twirl with their cute French boys. 

“I’d like to call a truce,” he suddenly announces. 

Harry chokes on her drink. 

“Blimey, Malfoy! I didn’t mean-”

His waves her concerns away. In response to his ‘Potter Stinks’ badges (which she was eternally grateful did not say ‘Potter Sucks’), she’d distributed newsletters claiming that Malfoy was moonlighting as a Backstreet Boy. It took a long time to cut and stick him to the band pictures, but it had worked. And it had been glorious. 

“I thought it was quite clever,” he admits. “I just...I think we’ll have bigger things to worry about than childhood rivalries.”  
Harry averts her eyes. “Your parents have seen the signs too.”

He nods curtly. 

“Well. Should we shake on it?”

The fourth years are ecstatic. Lavender’s first question is, ‘Does this mean I can snog Malfoy?” Harry doesn’t have the time to figure out why it makes her so uncomfortable. She spends her spare time snogging Krum. He’s a bit of a troll, but he’s a fit one. 


	2. Fifth Year

Malfoy leans against the stone wall, a charm directing the smoke from his cigarette to the courtyard. A massive poster, as tall as the corridor itself, scowls down at him. The top reads, ‘Dark Arts: Never Even Once’. Underneath, a handsome Tom Marvolo Riddle beams down at them. On the other side, Lord Voldemort scowls at the camera. He’s still got a nose in it, unfortunately. The last picture Harry and the twins could find was of May 1981. There’s a whole series of them posted around the castle. It’s probably her favorite achievement, even above the basilisk. If Flitwick or Dumbledore know the counter to the Permanent Sticking Charm, they haven’t shown it.

Harry whips off her invisibility cloak. To his credit, Malfoy doesn’t even flinch.

“What do you think?” She asks.

He cuts his grey eyes at her. “I think you’re going to get yourself killed.”

She shrugs. “He’s going to try to kill me anyway. Might as well have some fun with it.”

He takes a long drawl of his cigarette, staring at the poster a long time.

“Is it true you can cast a corporeal Patronus?” He asks.

A smirk worthy of a Slytherin cuts across her face. She’s glad to show Prongs off. It’s another of her favorite achievements, but definitely not as high as the basilisk. The massive silver stag erupts from her wand. They watch as it snorts and paws at the ground beside Draco.

“It’s male,” he says after a long moment.

Harry shrugs. “Can you cast one?”

He vanishes the cigarette butt.

“No,” he bites out.

“You can learn,” she says. She used to hate how smart he is. “It’s getting the emotion right that’s difficult.”

Draco glances up at the poster. “I’m not exactly the paragon of light.”

“Neither am I.”

He huffs. She flicks her hair over shoulder in irritation. She’s too annoyed to notice how his eyes catch at the curve of her neck.

“Well, you’ve got both your parents, haven’t you? The only memory I’ve got of mine is my mum begging Snakeface there to spare my life. It’s about love, that’s all. Not whatever it means to be the ‘paragon of light’.”

“You can’t just go around calling the Dark Lord Snakeface! He’s a legilimens, Potter!”

“And don’t I know it! He’s utterly mad, you know. He’s got more mood swings than I do and I’m a teenage girl!”

Draco turns very, very pale and looks like he’s going to throw up. He lights another cigarette with the tip of his wand.

“I know,” he says softly.

There’s no way he could know. Not unless he’d met Voldemort, and if he had, it was probably at Malfoy Manor. And Moldy Shorts probably hadn’t left.

“Fuck,” she says.

“Fuck,” he agrees.

She decides not to tell him off for smoking. Instead, she does what she would like for someone to do if the Dark Lord was terrorizing her home.

“Want to go play some Quidditch?” She asks.

He pauses, staring at her. Then shrugs. “Yeah.”

Harry hunts him down two weeks after the winter holidays. She pats the curls knotted on top of her head, painfully aware of how dreadful she looks. She wears her glasses more often than her contacts in an attempt to cover the shadows under her eyes. There’s no longer enough time in the day to tame her hair into something manageable. Everything’s going to shit. It’s all stupid anyway. Malfoy’s seen her at her worst. Sometimes had a hand it making her at her worst.

“Malfoy! A word, please,” she calls. It comes out snappier than shewanted. 

Pansy Parkinson scowls behind him, but she leaves with the group of Slytherins nonetheless. Draco crosses his arms and leans his shoulder on the wall while he waits for the corridor to empty. 

“Potter,” he says when they’re alone.

She’d forgotten how tall he is. Her skin feels tight, and she’s suddenly hot, like she’s got on to many layers.

“Malfoy,” she says. “I’ve got a question to ask.”

He cocks a brow. “I’m listening.”

“I know a lot of Gryffindors.” One side of his lips pull up into a smirk. She has to make herself look away. “Subterfuge isn’t our greatest asset.”

He eyes the curve of her neck, the pile of hair. “No, it isn’t.”

“Er. Well. I wanted to ask your opinion on something.”

“I’m listening, aren’t I?”

“Um. Well, let’s say you had access to-“

“Nope. Not happening, Potter.”

He pushes himself off the wall and Harry can suddenly breathe. She sucks in the fresh air greedily. She can do this. She can ask him.“You didn’t even let me finish!”

Draco glances around the hallway, making sure they’re still alone, then drags her behind a tapestry. It’s cramped, and he’s so tall, and when did his shoulders get so broad?

A vision of her legs thrown over them sears across her mind.

_Merlin’s beard, I’m hopeless._

“Look, Harry,” She jolts. He’s never called her by her first name before. Never looked at her so seriously. “You said it yourself. I’ve still got my parents; I can’t lose them.”

“But-“

“No. I can’t risk it. I can’t risk them. Why do you think I’m going along with that devilish toad of a woman?”

She slumps against the wall, studying the detail in the tapestry. How they managed to get fabric to look so alive is beyond her. She tries to think about the charms they used, how they were combined with the thread. Anything to get her mind off of how cramped and dark it is. How hot it is.

“I can’t help you, but I could help you take your mind off things,” he offers. “We could have a race. A duel, perhaps? There’s a party-“

He reaches out, quick as a viper, and grabs the hand pulling at her collar. The words are scabbed and irritated from the previous night’s detention.

“What is this.”

“What’s it look like?”

“Salazar’s sack, Harry! That’s torture. Actual, legal torture!”

She tries her hand back. He squeezes harder and she stretches to snarl in his face.

“Then let me owl my daddy and tell him how the mean teacher mistreats me. I’m sure he’ll call up his legal-“

“Your godfather is the Lord of the Black family and an escaped convict to boot! There are-”

“Yes, let’s risk his life over another-“

“-told anyone other than those twins-“

“CHILDREN.”

Harry jumps. She knows that voice. She’s feared that smooth, deep voice since she was eleven years old. She tries to peel her hand away and assume a posture of the appropriate combination of cowering and defiance (really, how she and the twins managed Gryffindor is beyond her comprehension sometimes), but Malfoy jerks her forward so violently Snape has to step back.

In the light of the corridor, the words are even more noticeable: ‘I must not tell lies’.

Something flashes in Snape’s black eyes, but she can’t make out what it was. Bitterness that someone else had finally gotten to do it?

Anger that someone nasty was encroaching on his territory to be nasty? Are slimy gits a territorial species?

“Minerva does not know,” he says, flat as ever.

Harry shakes her head. She tugs on her hand, but Draco still doesn’t let go. He lowers it to his side instead. She has to make herself not stare.

“Who suggested murtlap essence?”

“Katie Bell.”

Surely he couldn’t find fault in the murtlap. It’s the only thing that works.

“It’s called a Black Quill for a reason, Potter.”

“I’m well aware of what it looks like, thanks.”

“Harry,” Draco hisses. “Black. Quill.”

It’s the grey eyes that does it. They’re remarkably like Sirius’s.

“Oh.”

Snape looks at Draco with an expression that says, ‘Do you see whatI have put up with?’ as she thinks it through. She can’t owl Sirius. Or floo him. Well, she probably could, but that would be a lot of planning. And a lot of fun. And he’d given her that mirror for Christmas and Lee had suggested thinking more like Voldemort to better anticipate his moves. Voldemort would totally do the mirrors. 

“Thanks, Professor! Come on, Draco.”

He digs his heels in the stone floor, finally dropping her hand. “I can’t-“

“Oh. Subterfuge, I forgot. Here!”

She digs in her bag for the shimmery, silver cloak. Snape raises an eyebrow when she hands it to Draco Malfoy without hesitating.

“Potter,” Malfoy grits out. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I know Voldemort better than you.” She sticks her nose in the air at their winces. “He’d appreciate a good bit of rebellion, then crucio you for consorting with the enemy. But he hands out crucios when he’s in a good mood too so you might as well have some fun and gain some respect along the way.”

Draco, as pale as his hair, glances at Snape wide-eyed. Their professor is pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I truly fear what you might have become in my house,” he mutters. “Out of my sight, the both of you!”

Harry drags Draco over a few corridors, then gestures for him to put on the cloak. He sneaks behind a statue in case someone rounds the corner. Lee will be proud that she’s learning so many sneaky Slytherin things. He’s always been the rational one.

The castle is nowhere near empty since curfew isn’t for another hour. It’s quiet, though. Umbridge has made people afraid to even talk about homework in the halls. They traipse up the stairs and through the hallways in companionable silence.

Sharp, staccato steps echo down the hallway. Harry freezes. The quickest way to Gryffindor tower is down that particular corridor, but the Umbitch is coming and Draco has her cloak.

Something pulls on her arm and before she can reach for her wand, she’s pressed against someone tall. The front of the cloak itches at her nose and she can feel Draco’s solid form against her own. She can’t even let herself breathe.

The Umbitch takes her sweet time to get down the stairs. Draco, may the stars curse him, digs his fingers into Harry’s waist the entire time. 

She nearly falls in her haste to get away.

He’s suspiciously silent. He doesn’t mock her when she says ‘Resilience’ to the Fat Lady. He doesn’t protest when she tells him to wait at the foot of the dormitory stairs. He doesn’t complain how long it took for her to dig the mirror out of her trunk. He doesn’t even tell her how stupid the Gryffindors are after they’re sequestered in the storage room. Rows of board games and magical artifacts line the shelves around them. There’s even an abandoned television in the corner, from where someone gave up trying to enchant it to work.

Harry casts a lumos. Draco rolls his eyes and casts something different. A bright ball of light rises to rest above their heads.

“What’s that?”

“Witchlight, Potter. Not all of us are stuck in our first year.”

She scowls and mutters ‘nox’, then raises the mirror. Only Draco’s chest is visible. He snorts.

“We’ll have to sit,” she says.

They slink down to the floor. When she’s managed to get them as close as possible with the least amount of touching as possible, she looks into the mirror and says, “Sirius Black.”

The waiting is awkward. Draco keeps smirking at her, like he knows something that she doesn’t, and his hand is awfully close to her thigh. It’s making her nervous Finally, finally, Sirius’s curtains of dark hair appear.

“Hey, Harry! How’s your-...Who’s this?”

“Sirius, this is Draco Malfoy.”

The two men regard each other with wariness.

“Hello, cousin,” Draco says, conceding whatever silent argument just occurred.

“Cousin. How has Cissy fared all these years? Better than Bella, I hope. She was never stable, you see, and Azkaban did her right in. She screamed so much the aurors carved runes in her bars-“

“Sirius! Enough!” Harry protests. ”We all know you’re scary.”

“Terrifying, more like,” Draco mutters. Loud enough for Sirius to hear, he says, “It’s precisely why I encouraged Harry to contact you. Did you happen to notice the scars on Harry’s hand, over break?”

He turns frighteningly flat eyes to Harry. A serious Sirius is not good. Most people don’t realize how clever he is. They forget that someone had to think up all their pranks.

“No. I did not.”

She cringes. She’d worked very hard on casting and keeping up a ‘notice-me-not’, along with a charm that prevents one’s foundation from smearing.

“Well, you see cousin, our esteemed High Inquisitor has been using a Black Quill-“

“SHE WHAT?!”

“Precisely,” Draco drawls. He jerks his wand and the mirror floats out of Harry’s hand to hover in front of himself. “I was hoping you might have a few extra stashed away. A prototype, perhaps.”

Sirius’s voice takes on a false calm that makes Holly scamper to be seen. Draco squeezes her thigh. Her pulse leaps.

“I don’t think so. I do, however, have quite a few books. Some of them even chronicling the more majestic endeavors of our family. Am I correct in assuming that your post is not monitored as our dear Harry’s is?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Am I also correct in assuming you are experienced in charms of this majestic nature? I wouldn’t want to bring harm to my beloved cousin.”

“My mother may not be mad, but she’s a Black. I was raised on the Dark Arts same as you.”

Sirius barks out a laugh.

“We’re Blacks, cousin. Every one of us is mad.”

He turns his gaze to Harry. “Love you, kid. Ring me.”

He disappears without another word. Typical dramatics from Sirius Black. A true inspiration. One of the first things she’d ever heard him say was, “only one here will die tonight.” And Remus, true to marauder form, had replied with a simple, “Very well. Kill him.” What bloody legends.

Draco literally pulls her out of he reverie by sliding her onto his lap.

Holly freezes. “Whatareyoudoing.”

He raises a brow. “How long have you fancied me?”

“I don’t fancy you.”

He twists a loose curl around his finger. “You’ve always been a terrible liar.”

His hand trails to the back of her head, and he burrows his fingers in, pulling her head back, baring her throat. He leans forward, eyes gleaming silver with something not altogether different from madness. She closes her eyes, heart bounding, breath uneven. 

A soft, gentle kiss lands on the curve of her neck. Then another. And another, and just when she relaxes, his soft lips part and his tongue darts out to taste her skin. She gasps.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a year, now,” he whispers in her ear.

Oh, fuck it, she thinks.

Harry twists herself up right and slams him back against the shelves. She doesn’t waste time with sweet kisses and whispers. She’s waited for too long for that. She devours him.

Eventually, she has to breathe.

She smooths down the silken blonde hair that she’d mussed up.

“I want you to teach me,” she says.

His fingers dig into her ass. “You’re doing pretty well.”

“No,” she huffs. “The Dark Arts.”

Draco scrambles back against the telly. “Absolutely not.”

“I am not teaching you fiendfyre.”

“I’d be great at it!”

“You’d burn yourself into a crisp.”

“Don’t be dramatic. It wouldn’t be that bad.”

“Harry, even Professor Snape struggles to control the flames.”

“.....Right. Well. What about that one that turns your blood into lead?”

“Merlin, you’re sadistic aren’t you? No. You’re shit at Transfiguration anyway. If you let me teach you properly, and start off simple, I’ll have you ready for an ancient Malfoy curse by the end of the year.”

“Ooooo, an ancient _Malfoy_ one, you say?”

“Shut up, Potter.”

This black quill doesn’t look any different from the other one. It could even be the same one. Umbridge could have a drawer full or Draco might not have made his own yet. Harry picks up the quill and twirls it between her fingers. It certainly doesn’t feel different. She purses her lips as she puts it the dry tip to parchment.

‘I’, she writes and she doesn’t feel anything.

‘mu’ she writes, but there’s a squeak before she can continue.

“Professor?” She calls.

“It’s nothing. Carry on.”

‘st not’ flows across the page in Harry’s untidy script.

“Girl! Girl! What have you done?”

An unbridled, deep ecstasy fills Harry. Umbridge is clutching and rubbing at the back of her hand, her ridiculous rings catching the candlelight.

“Girl! Answer me!”

Harry raises her brow. “I haven’t done anything. I’ve been here.”

Umbridge studies her for a long time. Eventually, she stomps over to a cabinet, pulls out a different quill, and trades it for Harry’s.

“Here. Use this one.”

It’s just as black. Just as identical to the others, with not a feather crumpled or out of place. In slow, careful letters, Harry finishes the first sentence. There’s an itch behind her scar, something foreign and familiar, something that both belongs and doesn’t. She blinks up at her professor innocently.

Umbridge, eyes gleaming with pain, covers the back of her hand.

“That’s enough for tonight, child.”

“Are you sure? I don’t think the message has sunk in.”

Umbridge pales as Harry’s eyes flash a deep red.

“Out, you terrible beast! OUT!”

“I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong. I think about everything that makes me angry, but it just...Look at it, Draco! I turned it purple, not inside out.”

“Not everyone’s the Dark Lord, Harry. Most people don’t do unspeakable things because they’re angry. It’s like you said with the patronus, it’s all about the people you love. It’s how far you are willing go to protect the people you love.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“I know, darling. I know you will.”

Harry collapses in her history exam. She leaves immediately, taking the stairs three at a time. When she finally reaches her dormitory, she yanks the drawer out of her nightstand in desperation.

“SIRIUS BLACK!”

The seconds tick by like hours.

“SIRIUS BLACK!”

Still, nothing.

“SIRIUS BLACK! SIRIUS! SIRIUS BLACK, YOU ANSWER THIS VERY-“

“Harry?”

She nearly collapses again. Sirius stares at her worriedly.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

She cries. She’s never been much of a crier. Petunia always slappedher or locked her away whenever she cried, but she just can’t hold her tears back this time.

“I thought they had you,” she sobs.

“What? Harry, what’s happened?”

She tells him in between great shuddering breaths. It takes a while, but he’s able to piece the puzzle together. He’s always been very clever, her godfather. Of course he wouldn’t have gotten himself taken again.

“Alright love, I’m gonna need you to take me to Snape, yeah? Put on your cloak and go to his office. I’ll be here the whole time.”

She grips the handle as tight as she would his hand the whole way down.

Draco is leaning against a dungeon wall with Theodore Nott, probably on his third cigarette. She can’t say anything. There are more important things happening, but she wants him to hold her all the same. He’s selfish and cold and a complete snob, yes, but he’s also intelligent and fiercely loyal, and his eyes light up when he talks about history in the cutest way. He says she has an elegant neck and likes to trace her ear with his tongue and understands that sometimes she needs to be in control. Just like she understands that sometimes he needs the control. They aren’t likely to get it anywhere other than broom cupboards and prefect bathrooms.

Harry lets her fingers trail across his chest as she passes. He shivers, head snapping to the right. He can’t see her, but she feels his gaze burning into her nonetheless.

“Draco?” Theo asks.

“It’s nothing. Let’s go see what Blaise is up to.”

He’ll be out by the lake when she gets a chance, then. Zabini and

Lavender never stay inside on nice days.

Harry knocks on Snape’s door three times, the way she has for their lessons all year. Occlumensy is not her forte. Her strengths lie in magic powered by emotions, whether those spells be Dark or Light. Snape is not a good teacher, but he isn’t an idiot. He knows that even he and Dumbledore would struggle to fight off a direct attack from Voldemort. He’s taught her enough Occlumensy to lie a little better and sleep a little more.

“Enter, Potter.”

She slips through the smallest crack she can manage. Snape is already on his feet before she can get her cloak off.

“What is it?”

Harry shoves the mirror at him. He charms it to hover as Sirius begins explaining in cool, detached tones while she lowers herself on the rickety stool beside a bookshelf. Everyone knows the student chair is cursed to sting after you’ve sat in it too long. When they’re done, Snape turns on his heel, the mirror following almost comically.

“Details. Tell me everything,” he demands.

“Can’t you just look?”

He doesn’t hesitate. The attack is different from all of their lessons. Before, Snape’s legilimency was brutal and efficient. This is gentle, fleeting, almost intimate. It’s an art. He could have taken everything from her and she wouldn’t have even known.

“Black! Can you arrange a meeting with Albus for midnight?”

“Yes.”

Snape sends the mirror back to Holly. She says her goodbyes before stowing it away.

“You’ll be spending the day with me. If anyone asks, it’s because I found you with another one of those posters.”

“Alright,” she agrees. It wouldn’t work with anyone that had two brain cells to rub together, but its Umbridge they’re dealing with. “Could you conjure a desk? Something comfortable, if I’m stuck down here all day?”

He sneers at her, making it understood that her like nothing else than for her to sit on the crooked stool for an entire day and night, but conjures a small desk and a sturdy chair all the same. Pity that it isn’t Dumbledore. One of his floral chintz armchairs would liven the place up.

They work in an almost companionable silence for quite a while. It isn’t broken until she asks for a spare pot of ink.

“What are you doing?” He asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“...scheming?”

“Potter! There are people far older and vastly more intelligent than you, an insolent fifteen year old girl, working against the Dark Lord. Keep your head down and stay out of our way!”

Harry has to work very hard on biting her tongue. “I’m not plotting against Voldemort, sir.”

A corner of his lip pulls back, whether in amusement or disdain, she cannot tell. He shoves a pot of ink across his desk.“You will not endanger any of the students with your ridiculous endeavors.”

“Of course not, sir. Thank you.”

She heads back to her study area. She doesn’t miss the way her professor frowns at the massive journal open on her desk. She doesn’t try to hide it, either. If the man can hide his thoughts from Voldemort, he can surely sniff out an enchanted notebook with that big nose of his.

At three, the Headmistress pops in. She seems both amused and frustrated to find Harry in detention. She waddles out quickly enough. Snape has a way with people.

Draco stops by soon after. Snape sends him away almost immediately. He does not “have the time to deal with star crossed teenagers. Out, Draco!”

At four, Fred drops by with her astrology text and a battered copy of The Art of War. Snape once again frowns at the massive journal, but he keeps quiet.

Holly is stretching her legs on another little tour of the office when it happens again. A sudden, unbearable pain lashes out from within. It’s Sirius again, this time as a dog in an alley. There’s a high, cruel laugh and Nagini strikes from the shadows.

Holly awakens with Snape staring down at her.

“Did you see?” She breathes.

He jerks his head, lips pursed.

“Cornered Padfoot in a grimy alley. He must know the headquarters is in London.”

Snape holds out his hand. She takes it without a second thought.

“Sit,” he commands. “In my chair.”

His chair is much more comfortable than her own. It’s a thick padded and leather, with just the right amount of recline. She might be even be able to fall asleep.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep!”

“Jesus! I didn’t even feel you that time!”

His lip twitches. “One need not be a legilimens to exploit the powers of reasoning and deduction.”

She scowls and sits up straighter, trying very hard not to be succumb to her curiosity while he paces. After a while, he mumbles something in his most dangerous tones. A spell is cast, and a silver doe blinks out at the office. Harry stares at it, then at Snape, then back to his Patronus.

“Albus, I must escort the girl to Headquarters.”

He taps his wand between the doe’s eyes and it disappears. 

“That’s a doe.”

He begins pacing.

“If mine’s a stag, why is your’s a doe?”

“SILENCE, YOU FOOLISH GIRL! I’m trying to think of way to excuse our absence from the castle for the foreseeable future!”

“Oh! I can do that.”

He comes to a sudden halt.

“Fred and George have a dramatic exit planned for tomorrow,” she explains in a rush. “I hadn’t planned to go with them, but they won’t mind. They only waited to finish their exams for Mrs. Weasley. They’d be more than happy to push up up the deadline. I’m not really worried about my astronomy OWL. I dunno how you’d fit in, though.”

Snape exhales a long, shuddering breath. She pushes to her feet on unsteady knees- that last one had taken a lot out of her- and crosses the room. She offers the stuffed, tattered journal to her professor.

“I know you don’t like me, but the things in here could get us put in Azkaban. And that one’s only for this year. The Plan is after the pink divider.”

At five, Severus Snape snaps the journal closed. Harry jumps at the sudden noise. She’d just managed to switch covers on the annotated textbook, the one that might even be Snape’s. Not that he would have noticed. Even someone like him, probably especially someone like him, wants to know what goes through the mind of a marauder.

“I thought you were exaggerating,” he says quietly. “You three are well known for your dramatics.”

_Says the man with billowing robes._

“Azkaban would be a kind fate. If the Dark Lord knew what you are capable of, if he harnessed this...” He cuts himself off, pressing his thin lips tight. “It would be better for everyone if I killed you myself.”

“Probably. And you’d probably enjoy it. Which is where you come in.”

  
  


“POTTER! YOU ARE NOT TAKING MY FORM BY POLYJUICE!”

“Well, what else would piss you off enough to want to kill me?”

“I READ YOUR ANIMAGI TRIALS! I SHOULD KILL YOU BEFORE YOU MANAGE TO KILL YOURSELF! DID YOU ASK FOR ASSISTANCE FROM ANYONE OTHER THAN YOUR IDIOT GODFATHER?”

“MY IDIOT GODFATHER WAS AN ANIMAGUS AT FIFTEEN, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!”

“SO WAS PETER PETTIGREW!”

“EURGH! CAN WE NOT? JUST GET MCGONNAGALTO TRANSFIGURE ME INTO YOU!”

“……You are the STUPIDEST witch to ever step foot into this castle. And you best believe that includes Dolores Umbridge.

By six thirty, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry can no longer be called a school. It is chaos. Some older students have locked themselves into warded rooms while the youngest cower in forgotten corners. Fart Marks hovers over several different wings. The one in the Great Hall is a sphincter in place of a skull that never stops farting. Another above the lake is far more crude and features a male reproductive organ.

After nearly a year of being abused and degraded, the students have taken back their home. They were the smoldering remains of a fire waiting for oxygen to set them ablaze. Now, they burn with a righteous passion of youth.

Despite the atmosphere, despite the pride and invincibility of youth, one man can still silence them all. A crowd watches disbelievingly as their potions professors finally loses it. They knew he would do it. They knew Harry Potter would make him do it. It’s something else altogether to see it happen.

His black eyes are alight with a glee that make even his Slytherins cower. Three black specks are receding into the blue sky. Two of them are Fred and George Weasley. The third, probably Harry Potter, had been transfigured to resembled a rather short Severus Snape.

“I’m going to kill that girl,” he says.

No one is there to stop him. McGonnagal is half heartedly following Dolores Umbridge’s footsteps, who had been chased into the Forbidden Forest by fireworks and a gaggle of Hufflepuff first years. Pamona Sprout had watched them from her greenhouse when they did it. Most people forget that badgers are predators with strong limbs and sharp claws. The beasts are capable of burying a calf underground; Pamona has buried more important things than that for her clan.

“Professor,” a seventh year Slytherin says. His voice cracks as he steps forward. “Professor, please. Think of the repercussions. Potter isn’t worth this.”

Shafiq’s concern is amusing and rather touching. Snape buries it deep, whirling on the young man. He laughs, a genuine, booming thing that makes makes a first year cry. He’s wanted to do this for a very long time. He hates teaching, despises making himself less than he is.

“Let them come! There are only two people in all of Europe capable of defeating me. I crave the challenge. Let them come!”

With that, Severus Snape flies away on a cloud of black smoke.

(In two years, Hogwarts will be attacked. The Dark Lord will threaten to kill them all if Harry Potter is not delivered to them at sunrise. The students gathered in the Great Hall will plunge into ice, hardly daring to breathe, until a little girl in green robes steps forward and says, “Let them come.”)

George winds an arm around Harry’s waist to keep her upright. The visions, the magic, the adrenaline, the apparation, it was all a bit much.

Two men, one tall and silver, the other guant and regal, explode out of the kitchen. They blink. They gape. They blink some more. Then, Sirius Black collapses into a fit of laughter. Another lankier, grungier man appears behind. He, too, has to lean against the wall in an effort stay up right.

Albus Dumbledore does not laugh. His blue eyes are glossed over with tears, but they are not with mirth. He meets Harry’s piercing black gaze. They nod once, in synchronicity and understanding. Severus Snape would not allow himself to be mocked by just anyone. He would not allow himself to be ridiculed thus without good reason. Harry thinks it is for the war. Albus knows it is for love.

Then, a crack echoes and the door slams open. The man in question sweeps into the entryway of Grimmauld Place, reflexively flicking his wand at the curtains of the screeching portrait.He scowls at his strange reflection.

“Finite,” he murmurs.

Harry’s hair grows, her nose shrinks, eyes lighten, and she is suddenly herself. 

“Thanks, Professor.”  
  
“Shut up and get in the kitchen.”

Her lips twitch. “Yes, sir.”  
  
“I think it best for you three to retire,” Dumbledore suggests gently.

“Albus,” Snape interrupts. “As much as it pains me to admit, those three are more capable than most of the Order, and certainly all of the Ministry.”

“Severus, I know, believe me, I do, but-“  
  
“I read that infernal journal they share, Albus!”

Behind him, George’s eyes widen. ‘Infernal Journal,’ he mouths. His twin cracks a grin.

“And apparently, Draco has been teaching the girl more than where to find all the hidden cupboards in the castle. Don’t look at me like that, Potter, I merely recognized the spells you three have attempted to combine. Which is exceeding dangerous, by the way. You three will not continue with any of your experiments without my guidance, is that understood?”

Fred Weasley gapes. “Are you serious?”

“No, he’s Sirius,” Harry cuts in obligingly. Sirius nods in solemn appreciation.

“KITCHEN, NOW!” Snape bellows, herding the three teenagers down the hall.

Sirius, Remus and Albus watch with varying levels of amusement. The headmaster looks as though he might cry.

“I’ve seen the journal,” Remus says. “If Severus truly joins them-“

“She let you see the journal?!” Sirius demands.

“Of course not, Padfoot.” His grin melts into a frown. “It’s all going to change. They’re brilliant, all of them, but when has a marauder ever followed the rules? The war won’t be the same.”

“Magic itself won’t be the same,” Albus says, a twinkle in his eye.

Fin!


End file.
